


Like a Silent Shadow

by StarSpray



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gap Filler, Gen, Nargothrond, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: Huan helps Lúthien escape from Nargothrond--everyone knows that--but he doesn't do it alone.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Like a Silent Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> I've tagged this canon divergence AU but really it doesn't change anything in the wider story, just in Finduilas' own.

Finduilas fisted her hands in her skirts as she watched the gates close. They were beautiful, as were all things in Nargothrond, wrought of iron bars twisted and hammered into complicated geometric patterns, Dwarvish in design. There were many such gates at different points in the city, meant to be closed in case the outer walls were breached. Behind the gates were heavier wood-and-metal doors meant for the same purpose, although these remained open. The gates were shut by the order of Curufin, and none but the Fëanorians could pass into that part of the city. No one noticed Finduilas standing in a shadowed alcove nearby, watching the goings-on. Just beyond the gate she saw Huan lying with his great ears drooping, looking more deeply unhappy than she had ever seen him, and nearby her lord cousins Celegorm and Curufin stood in whispered council, neither of them looking particularly pleased either—which was also unusual.

Not that anyone was particularly happy these days, in Nargothrond. But they had just returned from a hunting trip and Celegorm, at least, had always in high spirits on such occasions in the past, eager to tell tales and boast of his adventures. Many times Finduilas had joined the audience in one of Nargothrond's grand halls to watch Finrod teasingly challenge every claim Celegorm made, the tale-telling dissolving into wine- and laughter-fueled arguing, to the amusement and enjoyment of all involved.

But of course Finrod was not there to provide wine or teasing, and all laughter had ceased since his departure. It seemed dangerous even to speak above a whisper at times, and even the birdsong in the gardens seemed muted. But this closing of the gates was new and different. Something had happened, or was happening, or was about to happen. Finduilas slipped away, determined to find out what it was.

At another time she would have gone to Gwindor, both for advice and reassurance, but she did not want to add to his burdens. She knew he was already not sleeping—she still feared that the loss of his brother in the Bragollach would see him fade from the grief. Instead she went to sit with him in one of the gardens for a while, talking a little of Gelmir and more of other, inconsequential things like how bright the sky was and how pretty the flowers. It seemed to help, and he looked almost cheerful as he left to go on patrol down the Narog.

The first place she went after Gwindor's departure were the forges. The Fëanorians had workshops of their own, but the bigger and better ones were elsewhere, built by the Dwarves who helped Finrod at the city's founding. It was there that Finduilas found her cousin Celebrimbor, as he carefully poured molten silver from a crucible into a ring mold. His face was shiny with sweat in the hot workshop, and he had a look of great concentration as he hummed quietly under his breath, a song that Finduilas did not know but that thrummed through the air with power. The long and wide room smelled of fire and molten metal, and aside from Celebrimbor's humming the only sound was the crackle of fire in the forge, and some papers rustling as other craftsmen at the far end perched on stools at large drafting tables, in the planning stage of whatever their current projects were. Finduilas perched on another stool at the end of Celebrimbor's workbench and watched quietly until he set aside the crucible and the mold. She smiled sweetly at him when he finally looked up. "Hello, Cousin. What are you making?"

"I am experimenting with rings," he said. "It isn't anything particularly interesting."

"Experiments mean new things, and those are always interesting," Finduilas said. She propped her elbows onto the table and rested her chin in her hands. "What are you trying?"

"Well—I haven't tried it yet. I'm going to try a new way of etching, and setting gemstones." He sat down on another stool, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. "But you surely didn't come down here to talk about rings."

"No, I didn't." Finduilas glanced down the room at the other craftsmen, who seemed completely unaware of her and Celebrimbor. She lowered her voice. "Your father and uncle came back from their hunting trip rather quickly…"

Celebrimbor grimaced. "Yes, I know. They brought something back—but I don't know what it is. No one is allowed anywhere near where they've got it."

"They brought back something _alive?_ " The last word came out nearly a squeak.

"I think so. In fact I think it may not be an _it_ , but whoever or whatever it is, my father won't speak of it. And no one but he and my uncle Celegorm are permitted near the room. Huan stands guard in the hallway, but I can tell he hates it."

"He's looked terribly unhappy whenever I've seen him." Finduilas dropped one of her hands to drum her fingers on the table. She did not at all like the idea of Celegorm and Curufin keeping a prisoner in Nargothrond without the knowledge or leave of her father.

Celebrimbor had picked up a bit of wire to fiddle with, and he peered at Finduilas as he turned it over in his fingers. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, my advice is not to," he said. "My father has been in a very dangerous mood ever since—well, you know."

Finduilas hummed, watching the light flash on the metal in his hands. She already knew she needed to tread carefully—she had been doing so since Finrod had gone. She hopped off of the stool and went around the workbench to press a quick kiss to Celebrimbor's sweaty cheek. "Thank you for speaking with me," she said. "Do remember to eat something."

She retreated to her own chambers, deep in thought. There were many ways to traverse the city. The main thoroughfares were the ones with strategic gates—but there were paths around the gates. Her Uncle Finrod had made a game of teaching them to her, when she had been small and only a sometime-visitor to Nargothrond. And if she changed into a simpler gown and hid her bright hair beneath a kerchief—well, she doubted she would be noticed at all. As it was, she was so often overlooked or unheeded, being only Orodreth's young daughter, a pretty little thing but never someone to look out for.

That afternoon and evening, however, all Finduilas did was see that a meal was taken to the forge for Celebrimbor, and then she sat quietly while her father met with his counselors, her gaze on the embroidery hoop in her lap, but her attention on the talk going on around her.

Early the next morning, she set off to find the best route into the Fëanorion quarter. One of her ladies went with her, both of them dressed in their plainest gowns, with veils over their hair; Faeveren was wed to Edrahil and had little love for the Fëanorians. "What exactly are you hoping to find?" Faeveren asked as they passed down a narrow corridor only dimly lit by the occasional crystal lamp that brightened as they passed, and then faded again once they were gone.

"Anything that may tell us what they're up to, even if it's nothing at all and they're only feeling particularly contrary," Finduilas replied.

After several hours of skulking about and ducking into shadowed alcoves or behind pillars to avoid being seen, they had found nothing to suggest anything nefarious. It did not help that Finduilas was unsure of where to look for whatever it was she was worried about finding—and Celebrimbor had not told her where the door was that Huan was guarding. At last, Faeveren convinced her to abandon the quest, at least for that day, before Orodreth grew worried over Finduilas' absence. As they hurried down a corridor, Finduilas halted suddenly, seeing Huan lying in front of a door ahead of them. He raised his massive head just as Faeveren pulled Finduilas down another narrow passageway. There could hardly be any doubt that the hound had seen them—or smelled, or heard them—but there was nothing to be done about it, and Finduilas could only hope that nothing would come of it. Huan knew her, and she thought that he was fond of her, in his way.

As they paused to catch their breath they heard footsteps down the corridor. Finduilas peered around the corner to see Celegorm approaching the door that Huan lay before, his silver hair swinging in its long braids. He entered it and immediately a voice rose within—just loud enough to be heard, though not loud enough for any words to be made out. The voice itself, though, was unmistakable. She gasped, and Huan turned his great head to look at her. For a moment she froze, the two of them locking gazes, but then Faeveren pulled her away and they fled, out of the Fëanorian quarter and back to the safety of Finduilas' own rooms.

"What did you see?" Faeveren demanded, leaning back against the door as Finduilas tore the veil from her hair with trembling hands.

"I saw Celegorm enter the room that Huan was guarding," Finduilas replied, "and I did not see her but I heard—I _heard_ Lúthien within."

" _Lúthien?_ The Princess of Doriath?"

"Yes."

"But what is she doing _here?_ For that matter, what is she doing outside of the Girdle?"

"Would that we could ask her." Finduilas paced the length of the room, spinning so abruptly at the end of each stretch that her rug wrinkled beneath her feet and her skirts flared around her legs. "But it must have something to do with Beren and his quest."

Faeveren swallowed hard, eyes wide in her suddenly white face. "Something terrible must have happened," she whispered.

"We don't know that," Finduilas said quickly, although she had to agree. "Faeveren, sit down, please." She hurried over to offer her lady her arm as they made their way to the chairs before the fire. Finduilas rang for someone to come get a blaze going, and to bring wine and food. Nothing more was said of Lúthien until they were alone again, and in the meantime Finduilas took the opportunity to change into a gown more suitable for supper with her father. Faeveren sat by the fire and sipped at her wine, her gaze far away.

Once they were alone again, Faeveren looked over at Finduilas, who sat before her mirror idly twisting a strand of hair around her fingers, trying to put her thoughts in order. "You should tell your father what we discovered today," she said.

"Mm…and what could he do about it?" Finduilas turned to face her friend. "The Fëanorians are so numerous, and it would take a great deal, I think, to rouse the city to back my father in any action against them."

"You think holding Elu Thingol's only daughter would not be enough?"

"It _should_ be, but Elu Thingol has not been a great friend to the Noldor—a fact that Curufin will use to great effect, I am sure. The whole city is still reeling from his words—I feel terror shake my very bones whenever Gwindor must leave to go on patrol. My father—I love my father, but he never wanted kingship and he is no match for any of the sons of Fëanor in a battle of words."

"So what do we do?"

"I don't know. I need to think."

Finduilas barely managed to sit still through supper and the gatherings afterward. Only Gwindor and her father paid her much attention at all—and Gwindor more than Orodreth, who looked as though he had not slept at all since Finrod had left. But being mostly ignored had never bothered Finduilas before, and it did not bother her now: it gave her time to think. However on this night her thoughts ran in circles, and by the time she fell into bed she was no closer to deciding what to do than she had been at the moment she heard Lúthien's voice.

The next several days passed similarly. Finduilas went about her normal routines while her mind was elsewhere, but it all came down to finding a way past Huan, and that was impossible, unless he departed on his own—and _that_ would not happen unless Celegorm departed, and that would not happen until he got what he wanted, whatever that may be.

Then, one evening, Huan came to her. Finduilas was sitting in the garden by her rooms, watching the moonlight from the opening in the cave roof far above play on the water of a lily pond, when she heard the soft padding of large paws come down the stony path. She looked up to find Huan, alone. He greeted her with a gentle and affectionate nuzzle to her neck, and then looked at her with his big, dark eyes. Huan did not speak and he very rarely even barked, but it was never hard to tell what he wanted to say. Now he was wanting her to follow him. Finduilas did not immediately move. "You are not going to take me to your master, are you?" she asked. He gave a single shake of his great head.

"Well, all right…"

They made their way through the city, down darkened lanes and through little-used passages, much the same way that Finduilas had gone herself into the Fëanorian quarter not so many days before. It was very quiet; her own footfalls were barely audible even to her own ears. Huan led her to the corridor where he had been guarding Lúthien's door. It stood unguarded now. But Huan trotted past it, and Finduilas hurried to keep up. He went to another room, this one with an unlocked door easily nudged open. It was not a large room, half for general storage and half for armory. Huan went to a large chest in the corner and nudged it with his paw. "Oh," Finduilas murmured. "I see. Where are the keys?" He raised his head toward the door, and she turned to find a ring of them on a hook. It took a few tries to find the correct one, but she got the chest open. Inside was only darkness—or so it seemed, until Huan lifted out the long dark cloak that lay folded haphazardly within. As he pulled it past Finduilas, still kneeling, she reeled, suddenly overcome with sleepiness. He roused her with a vigorous lick from her neck to her hairline.

Finduilas scratched him behind the ears, and got to her feet. "Is this Lúthien's?" she asked. "Are you going to help her escape from Nargothrond?" He nodded his great head. "I see. But you won't get far if you try to leave through the main gates, or even the side gates. I know a secret way—will you let me lead you?" He nodded his great head again and licked her. "All right, all right. No time to lose now." She found another set of keys near the door—these not for chests but for doors—and, fighting yawns, gathered up the cloak in her arms.

It took another few minutes of fumbling at Lúthien's door with the new set of keys—for a moment Finduilas despaired of even having the right one—but at last one slid into the lock and clicked open. Huan sat calmly beside her, keeping watch down the corridor, but it did little to lessen her nerves. If she was caught, she did not know what would happen.

The door swung open. The room was small but comfortable, lit with warm lamps and a cheerful fire on the hearth. Lúthien seemed to have been pacing, and had just reached the far end of the room by the bed when Finduilas got the door open. She whirled, mouth opening, but stopped when she saw that it was neither Celegorm nor Curufin. Finduilas also stopped, startled at the sight of her cousin with hair cropped very short, hardly reaching her ears. "Finduilas…?" Lúthien said at last, as Huan nudged Finduilas into the room and followed behind. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping you leave," said Finduilas. She held out the cloak, which Lúthien took with a soft, glad cry. "Is…is that your hair?"

Lúthien laughed, a sound like sudden birdsong. "Yes. It took a great deal of power and labor, and I was very sorry to lose it. Oh, little cousin, I am glad to see you!" They embraced—and Finduilas accidentally had her face pressed into the cloak, and nearly fainted into Lúthien's arms. "Oops! I'm sorry. The enchantments are meant to help me pass by unseen."

Finduilas had a hundred questions, but there was little time to ask any of them. "I will show you a way out of Nargothrond that very few others know," she said. "Perhaps no others, anymore—my uncle Finrod showed it to me long ago."

Lúthien's smile faded, her expression hardening into one almost stern. "Thank you, Finduilas. I will not forget this."

"You are going after them, aren't you? After Beren and my uncle and his men?"

"Yes."

"Because something terrible has happened, hasn't it?"

"I fear so."

Finduilas took a deep breath, and reached out for Lúthien's hand. "Follow me."

They passed like silent shadows through the city, taking the winding, secret ways that delved deeper and deeper into the hills, bearing ever north and west, following the course of the Narog in the gorge outside. Other springs and little streams bubbled up in the caves and more than once they had to leap over small underground rivers that flowed cheerfully along out to join the Narog on its course to the Sea. Huan followed behind them, a silent looming shadow. "How is it you know this path?" Lúthien asked as they paused briefly at a joining of the ways, as Finduilas searched her memory for the route she wanted.

"My uncle showed me when I was a child," said Finduilas. "He turned it into a game. Now I wonder why he was so insistent. Even my father does not know these paths."

"Perhaps he didn't know himself," said Lúthien. "The gift of foresight is not always clear."

"It's this way," Finduilas said, turning to the left-most of the three choices. "It isn't far now. Do you know where you are going once you leave Nargothrond?"

"North, up Sirion," said Lúthien. "My mother told me that Beren is locked in Tol-en-Gaurhoth."

Finduilas stumbled, shuddering. Lúthien caught her with gentle hands. "And Uncle Finrod must be with him!" she cried. "Imprisoned in his own tower." It was also the tower she had called home for almost her whole life, until the Dagor Bragollach. Until then, Nargothrond had only been a delightful place to visit, like Menegroth, or Hithlum.

"Yes," said Lúthien, grimly. "And I have been delayed again and again, first by my father and then by Lord Celegorm and his brother. But Huan has agreed to help speed me on my way. I only hope I am not too late."

They at last emerged from the caves and tunnels into the open night beneath the bright stars, out of an opening that was a mere crack in the stone, and from the outside no more than a blemish in the cliff side, neither wide nor deep enough to bother with; along the edges of the inside were runes carved long ago by skilled Dwarvish hands, that thrummed beneath Finduilas' fingers when she touched them.Lúthien embraced Finduilas once more. "Thank you, Finduilas. I will not forget this."

"May Elbereth guide your way, Cousin," replied Finduilas, as Lúthien stepped back, donning her cloak and very nearly vanishing entirely from sight. Then she sprang lightly onto Huan's back, to Finduilas' surprise. The great hound stepped up and nuzzled her neck very briefly before springing away, and in moments they were out of sight, vanishing into the night as swiftly and silently as an owl in flight. For some time Finduilas stood at the cave's entrance, feeling the wind on her face. She turned her face to the stars, to the Valacirca burning bright and cold in the north. They seemed to flare as she watched, just briefly. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but she chose to take it as a sign that the Valar had not turned wholly away—not, at least, from the daughter of Melian. Finduilas took one last deep breath of the fresh air that smelled of night flowers and damp grass, before turning to make her way back.


End file.
